


Nothing More Dangerous

by mona1347, poisontaster



Series: Sateda Dean [2]
Category: Stargate Atlantis, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Drunk Blow Jobs, First Time Blow Jobs, M/M, Mentor/Protégé, Military Backstory, Public Blow Jobs, Public Hand Jobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-07-31
Updated: 2007-07-31
Packaged: 2018-04-30 21:53:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5181041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mona1347/pseuds/mona1347, https://archiveofourown.org/users/poisontaster/pseuds/poisontaster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set prior to Sateda's fall.  <i>It's part of what they do, part of being a son of Sateda.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing More Dangerous

It starts easy.  
  
It's part of what they do, part of being a son of Sateda.

The body has needs, the Army has needs, the Army provides. Ronon's been with boys-men-before.

And at first, Dean is like every corn-fed farmer boy before him: almost too stupid to live, barely knowing his right from his left and as much a danger to his squadmates as his enemy.

Ronon decides to fuck him because, even as pretty as he is, the boy desperately needs to get laid, and because someone needs to bring him to heel, show him the way. Frankly, Ronon's a little surprised he didn't have to do more than break Goshul's nose for first crack at the rookie, but there it is.

He gets the kid drunk first, because he's not really sure how it is in whatever backwater province Dean's from. Sometimes they get weird. Dean spends the whole time in the bar talking about his home, his brother Samuel, and about his father-who was a formidable warrior in his own time.

It's not until much later that Ronon realizes that Dean never once mentions any girl he fucked or left behind or wanted to marry or any of the other things boys say about girls they knew when they're far from home and on their first real drunk.  
  
Dean's eyes seem as big as the moon in the sky-and about as hazy-when Ronon takes him outside, into the darkness. He blinks up at Ronon and Ronon feels something low in his belly shift and slide, well-oiled and hot.  
  
"Dean." Ronon brushes one thumb over Dean's bottom lip and tightens when Dean's mouth opens, pliant and soft. "I want to show you something."

Dean licks his lips, brushing Ronon's skin with the tip of his tongue, then flinches a little at the contact, embarrassed, like he didn't mean it. "W...what?"

Ronon smiles, brings his other hand to Dean's hip. "You gonna make me say it?" He goes to his knees, pushing Dean back against the wall by his now two-handed grip on Dean's pelvis. "Come on, farmboy. You must know all about fucking. All those hours watching the sheep."

Dean laughs a little this time at the insult, choked and gaspy and slightly hysterical. Ronon runs his lips over the quickly hardening skin pressing up against the laces of Dean's pants. "Anyone ever do this for you?"

Dean pants and shakes his head, palms pressing against the wall behind him. "Heard the men talking sometimes. In the field. But never..." Another gasp when Ronon opens his mouth and breathes hot against the cloth. " _Oh_. I didn't...think they were telling the truth."

Dean smells hot and clean and sour-sharp with the 'shine he'd spilled in his lap earlier. Ronon's voice roughens as he rubs his cheek against wool and ready flesh. "I can make it real good. If you want."

Dean nods furiously, up and down, again and again like the repetition will make it more true. "I want." He meets Ronon's eyes, brave and terrified and saying yes. For the first time, Ronon thinks, _maybe this idiot sheep-herder will make a proud son of Sateda someday after all._

"Okay." Ronon answers, bringing fingers to the laces, pulling and tugging and slipping the ties from their slits until the cloth parts and Ronon can reach inside. Dean's cock is as long and flushed-pink, pretty as the rest of him. Ronon looks up and smiles again. Dean's wide eyes look back, black as the gaping **O** of his wet mouth. Ronon fists one hand roughly around Dean's cock and tugs once, slow and easy, pulling out a desperate, choked noise. "Nice."

"R-Ronon?"  
  
Dean is fifteen and never had his wick dipped. Probably never had anybody even hold it.

Ronon takes the time to smooth his thumb soothingly across the soft plane of Dean's hip, mouths across the same sweet patch of skin. Dean's breath hitches, his body tenses...and then it all goes out of him on a puff. Dean's hand comes up, alights in Ronon's hair so carefully that Ronon barely feels the pressure of fingertips on his scalp.  
  
_Good boy,_ Ronon thinks. His own cock stirs thick and hungry in his pants but he lets it growl a bit in favor of licking slow and lingering across the swelling head of Dean's dick. Dean's already spilling fluid in heavy, salty drops. Ronon dips his tongue into the slit and laps it up; Dean's fingers fist tight, tugging against his scalp. _Good reflexes_. Ronon approves.  
  
He slacks his lips, lets them flow over Dean like water while the boy trembles and makes soft, gasping bird-noises. Dean's voice has barely broken and it seesaws between the rasp of adulthood and the tenderness of a boy. Ronon slips his hand under the rough homespun of Dean's tunic and rubs hard, rough circles against the boy's muscled belly. He's not soft, Dean; not his cock, not his body, not the heart of him. He's untried, but he's not soft. Ronon imagines what it will be like, sinking his dick into Dean. More than before, he's looking forward to finding out.  
  
He thinks Dean will let him. Not tonight-Ronon wouldn't ask tonight, this is only his first suck after all and Ronon wants to pace himself, there's time-but probably sooner rather than later by the way Dean's hands pull at Ronon's dreads, tightening and then loosening quickly again, trying not to hurt but wanting.  
  
Wanting more. Wanting everything.  
  
Ronon makes a pleased noise and pushes back against Dean's hands while tugging him in by his lean hips. He pulls off and murmurs against Dean's slit, "S'okay. Take what you need."

Dean's eyes roam Ronon's face-he hasn't looked away once again Ronon thinks, _Good. Potential_. Dean makes a high, girlish and quickly stifled noise when Ronon licks a long stripe up the underside of his dick but his, "You sure?" comes out low-pitched and gravelly.

Ronon laughs a little around the cock in his mouth and pulls back again. "I can take whatever you got to give, farmboy." Dean finally closes his eyes, the back of one hand flying up to press against his lush mouth. God. Ronon _wants_ that mouth. He wraps his other hand more firmly against Ronon's skull, fingers twining in the ropes of his hair, and pushes his hips up against Ronon's hands, pushes his cock further into Ronon's mouth, rubbing it hard between and against Ronon's slick lips. And then he does it again. And again.  
  
Faster. _Harder_.

This won't take long now. Ronon never expected it to and he feels a small relief, even as he regrets not being able to make this last forever. His own cock aches against the palm he presses against it. Dean cries out above him, thrusts into him, vibrating with previously unimagined feeling. "Ronon—" He fists his fingers in Ronon's dreads in warning, but Ronon only hums and drives his lips and tongue against Dean harder until he's shuddering and spilling, trying to slide down the wall.  
  
Ronon spits into the dust and holds Dean up through the spasms of orgasm, through the tiny, trembling aftershocks, until Dean's breathing slows its erratic race. Briskly, he tucks the boy back in, pulls the laces tight enough to hold Dean's pants to the points of his hips and then stands, pressing Dean back into the brick. Dean's breath hitches again, but Ronon doesn't have to prompt him for Dean's fingers to go to Ronon's cock, palming against the bulge, struggling with the laces.  
  
"Yes," Ronon breathes, his voice gritting across the single syllable, as Dean slips his fingers into Ronon's trousers and lifts him free.  
  
"Yeah," Dean echoes and, to Ronon's surprise, he presses his trembling lips against the heated skin of Ronon's neck. Despite that, Dean's hand moves smooth and sure on Ronon's dick. Ronon guesses Dean's spent no small amount of time fucking his own hand and it's not too hard to figure out how that translates to someone else if you've got half a brain, which Ronon's starting to come around to Dean's side on. Dean's other arm slides around Ronon's waist, open palmed on the small of Ronon's back, and holds Ronon against him.

"I... Fuck. Yes." Ronon finds himself thrusting against him, into his hand-good hands, callused and big, tight and rough around his cock-and it makes Dean's strokes shorter, faster than they might be, without enough room to maneuver fist and elbow between Ronon's body and the wall. "Good. Yeah. Like that, Dean." Ronon tilts his head to the side, giving Dean's pretty fucking mouth better access to his neck. "Just like...that."  
  
Dean's still shaking, small shudders that flutter beneath his skin. His voice is half-shot from liquor and orgasm, dirty and breathless. "I want t'do that to you too." Dean leans back as much as he can with Ronon pressing him into the brick behind, and turns his face until their eyes meet. "What you did. With your mouth. Can I? Can I taste you next time?"  
  
And that's just _it_. The thought of that ridiculous mouth wrapped sloppily around Ronon's cock, eager green eyes staring up through gold-tipped eyelashes. The thought that Dean wants this again, wants to _try things_ with him... " _Fuck_." Ronon comes suddenly, groaning and overloaded, pleasure flash-flooding up from the base of his spine, and open eyes fixed on Dean's earnest, wide-pupilled gaze.

"Feels so different," Dean whispers and Ronon thinks he's talking to himself, eyes flashing down to Ronon's spurting, softening cock in his fingers. Ronon looks down too and the sight of Dean's pale fingers around him, the skin gummed with come, makes Ronon shoot again, weakly and with a grunt.  
  
"I need another drink." Ronon shakes back his dreads when it's done, letting the cool night air hit his overheated skin. He tucks himself back in and fastens up his pants, amused as Dean tries to figure out what to do with his fistful of come. He winds up wiping it on the brick of the wall behind him.  
  
"I think..." Dean's first step is unsteady, but Ronon doesn't think it's the drink anymore. "I think...me too." His grin is shy but sleekly pleased. It's infectious and Ronon finds the corners of his mouth quirking up slightly.  
  
"Good." Ronon thumps Dean in the chest with one loosely closed fist. "You're buying."


End file.
